Marked
by Notyouraveragefan
Summary: Groups of dark wizards and witches aren't just born out of nothing. They are made out of years of wrongs inflicted by many and the thoughts and feelings of few. These are the Pov's of the handful who were marked by the darkness. One-shots.
1. Of mortality and revenge -Voldemort

**Marked**

A _Harry Potter_ story

 **OF MORTALITY AND REVENGE**

Immortal, he was finally immortal. That was the first thought that entered his mind as they walked through the dark forest heading towards the gates of the majestic castle that was Hogwarts. Twigs and leaves crunched under his heavy footsteps with the howling wind at his eardrums and the occasional sounds of cheering interrupting the otherwise silent woods. He glanced over his shoulder, sinister laughter leaving his lips and blood red eyes glowing with excitement at the sight behind him. There Hagrid was, carrying a dead Harry Potter in his arms, his lips trembling and eyes glistening over. Occasional loud sobs wreaked his monstrous body, which gave nothing but a tremendous amount of amusement to the death eaters that surrounded him. His loyal followers were rejoicing with him at their spectacular triumph, whistling, and cavorting about behind him.

'Move' he commanded the half-giant who had stopped unceremoniously in the middle of the road, brandishing his wand at the mountainous looking fellow. He was not angry, however, for the raptures at his victory had yet to subside.

He looked back at the boy who had been the bane of his existence since his birth, or as he called him the boy-who-just-wouldn't-die. That name would no longer suit him, however, as death had finally taken him. With his mouth lolled open and his eyes shut, the boy looked as pale as a ghost in the darkness. One of the death eaters seemed to have had slammed the spectacles back on this enemy, quite forcefully too. Branches and mud clung to his hair and scars were scattered about on his face, a proof of the pain and misery he had faced before dying. A lightning-shaped mark on his forehead was the only reminder of a crystal ball that foretold the future of two lives, a ball that now lay shattered in the Department of mysteries

Death, that is what had been referred to in the prophecy. _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_ it had said.

The prophecy was true, however, and he had lived which meant now he could exact his revenge on his enemies and no one would stand in his way. Those filthy muggles and mudbloods would die horrible deaths. Muggles, like Tom Riddle SR, who had abandoned his mother, taking away her desire to live and leaving her to the dead him. The sire who had deserted, leaving him nowhere to go but the Wool's Orphanage.

That wasn't his home either, it had never felt like one. He remembered it vividly, the square building surrounded by high railings made for a very unpleasant place in which to grow up in. The ruthless fellow orphans dint help and neither did the neglect shown by . It was just another place for him, one where he was regularly teased and abused for being "a monster"- for having magic. Well if they thought he was a monster, he had proven them right at the cave. He took Amy Benson, along with Dennis Bishop, to a cave near the spot where he and the rest of the orphanage kids were taken on a trip. There he had done something so delightfully terrible that the two orphans were frightened into silence.

Then there was Billy Stubbs. He had been a nuisance, continuously picking fights and torturing others. Tom too had been a victim of those bloody fights and bullying. But he had gotten his revenge on the boy, and Billy's rabbit was found hung from the rafters the day after one of their fights. Of course, Mrs. Cole had blamed him for causing trauma to these fellow students all the while disregarding the cause of his actions, what they had done to him beforehand.

'Stop' he commanded more to himself than to the people behind him, as he felt himself getting angrier at his train of thought. He looked about him, eyes blazing. They had reached the castle's gates and now a chill settled over them where they stood, the grating breath of the dementors that patrolled the other trees whistling down on them. The giant, as well as his followers, had jerked to a halt around him. The later looked towards him awaiting his further commands, while the former lurched a little to the front and then stood still, yet sobbing.

The sight of the grand castle bought forward other bitter memories to the front of his mind. His thoughts turned towards the former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, the flickering images of their first meeting coming to the forefront. At the crack of dawn one fine day, the old coot had shown up, bursting an old cupboard to flames- a wizard and professor at Hogwarts he called himself- and almost eleven-year-old Tom had confessed all that he had done to his fellow orphans. He had trusted the old man, even if to a fairly small degree. And so he had hoped that it would change at Hogwarts, that he would no longer be bullied.

He laughed again, this time more at the naivety of his childhood self than anything else. Hogwarts had definitely started out different. He had been sorted to Slytherin, the house of the cunning and had also found out the truth of his noble ancestry. No one could tease him now, or so he thought. As his popularity in his own house had increased so had the distrust of his fellow students and the professors, regarding him. And from there it had sprung again, the suspicion, torment, and agony. This time though he had people who stood with him, who followed everything he said and believed in him.

He was now proud of his house, his blood, and ancestry, and complimented himself on being a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin himself, was there anything wrong in that? He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard alive now. Magic was not something to be laughed at and the mudbloods would now learn this fact when faced with death by his wand. They would feel the pain he did. But first, he would get his revenge on all his supposed guardians who had failed him, then gradually rid the world of filth and rule the rich, pureblooded people who stood by him.

Thinking thus, he spoke aloud and challenged the crowd that had gathered, not knowing that in the period of less than an hour he would lose the battle and his life, nor that the one to do so would be the same boy he was thinking to be dead and not knowing the people he called his faithful followers would sigh in relief when he died.

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 **Authors note** :-

I do not own any _Harry Potter_ characters or plots, nor do I make money from the content of this story. It is the hard work and brilliance of JK Rowling alone.

Now that the disclaimer is over with, let's continue. Hello dear readers, this is the first fic I have ever written. So please R&R and do tell if there are any mistakes.


	2. Of fear and protection- Narcissa

**OF FEAR AND PROTECTION**

Silence.

The dead quiet in the clearing bothered her very much indeed. Even the wind seemed to be terrified of making a sound, blowing around soundlessly. A petite lifeless form was lying facedown on the forest floor, mud sticking to the dishevelled hair. She couldn't see the face, yet, the body was so badly battered and bruised, that she could imagine it being tear-streaked and grimacing even in death. Her stomach lurched and bile rose up to her mouth at that mental image.

The silence was broken when the red-eyed fiend, who stood beside her, stuck his wand in her direction. She let out a small shriek as her arm protested in pain, breaking her train of thought. " _You, examine him. Tell me whether he is dead._ " the man said, sending a chill down her spine. She nodded and then hurried over to the assumed dead body, heart thumping loudly. Her hands trembled slightly as she searched the child for any signs of life. Long digits prodded at his chest, though more carefully than the monster would have wanted. The boy's heart was racing and he accidentally twitched a finger when her cold hands came into contact with him. Realization dawned on her then, he had staged being dead. She started to reach towards the holster for her wand and opened her mouth to warn the others, but stopped midway as another thought struck her.

The child who lay limp in the dirt was a classmate of her son had been almost of the same age. It could have been Draco, she thought, sending a prayer to the heavens, that it wasn't the case. Her son had not been seen by her for a long time, where was he? Was he safe inside the castle?

Her son, it was hard to describe the love she felt for him since the very first time she held him in her arms. Or was it since the healer had first told her the news that she was pregnant? Her world revolved around him and there wasn't anything that she wouldn't do for him, for nothing mattered more to her than her lovely child.

Being born to the aristocratic Cygnus and Drusilla and in the House of Black had guaranteed a childhood that had been riddled with the concepts of blood-purity and nobility. Naturally, she had believed everything her elders had said and hated muggles with a fervour. This resentment had only solidified when her eldest sister, Andromeda - whom she had been closest to - had abandoned her for her muggle-born, mudblood husband. She had definitely been heartbroken to lose her sibling but had agreed with her parent's decision to disown the traitorous girl.

Her cousins hadn't helped either. Sirius was a blood traitor, which didn't matter to her as a child, yet had affected her more and more as she grew up. And the early death of Regulus made for extremely lonely teenage years. Bellatrix had been a bit crazy since infancy, a downside of all the inbreeding perhaps. But in her teens, that had morphed into raving lunacy. In fact, if she were to tell the truth, her sister truly terrified her.

In her years at Hogwarts, she had been sorted to Slytherin and that had made her parents proud. By her good luck, she had also found a match in her husband Lucius Malfoy, whose belief and upbringing was identical to hers. He supported the cause of purebloods on a larger scale than she did too, as a right-hand man of the dark lord himself. Did she love him? No, she didn't and never had. But he was perfect for her according to her family - he had all, money, blood and status in society. The similarity of their beliefs was an addition to these perfections. She loved making her parents proud, and the expressions of pride on her parents' faces had quelled any disappointment she had felt on the day of her marriage.

Then within a year of her marriage, her little dragon had been born. She and Lucius had raised the boy with the same beliefs that they had been raised in. He was the only Malfoy heir after all and hence he needed to understand how superior their family standing was in society. She now regretted doing that, as these beliefs could very well put his life in jeopardy. They nearly had done so many times, the worst of all being last year when he was given the impossible task of killing the oldie, Dumbledore. She knew it was a punishment for Lucius having failed in his first task but she could not accept that nor be a silent spectator anymore. This had drawn her to seek Severus's help, even knowing he was a spy for the light. Yes, she knew, yet, it didn't bother her. She had lost interest in the cause long ago. The only motivator now was the same son whom she had yet to find the current location of.

Glancing back to the boy on the ground, she bent lower down till only he would hear her _"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"_ she asked. An almost imperceptible nod answered her question and she sighed in relief.

She knew the consequence of lying to the dark lord. It could very well be the death of her and Lucius too, but if it could save her son - the only person she cared about anymore - so be it then.

Biting the inside of her lip she composed her face into an expressionless mask. Her resolve strengthened, she stood up and faced the man, looking right into his eyes to make herself more believable.

 _"Dead"_ the lie slipped smoothly through her lips.

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A/ N: Wassup dear readers.

I was so thrilled by your votes and reviews! Thank you all so much for your love. Here is your next chapter. Enjoy!

I don't own any Harry Potter characters or plots (though I wish I did :p). They belong to the genius J.K Rowling. And I do not make money by writing this story.


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